Breathing
by technicolor unicorn
Summary: Kurt touches himself.
1. Self Pleasure

Maybe it was stupid, but all he could think about lately was how much he wanted sex. But he wasn't going to pressure his boyfriend. No, he would never. He wasn't ready for that, himself, anyways. But he needed something. He wasn't going to cheat on his boyfriend, never in his life, so that left him to one thing.

His hand.

So he locked his door and turned out his lights, laying down on his bed. He began the best way he knew how. He slowly undressed, apart from his underwear, caressing his pale skin and pretending the hands were a little rougher. Guitar-calloused. Tanner. He knew what those hands felt like because earlier that day, he _did _feel them roaming his tummy just lightly. But what would those hand feel like teasing his rosebud nipples, making them hard along with something much more important?

He decided it would feel quite nice.

He stroked his thumb over his right nipple, giving it a light pinch. He gasped with a quiet, breathy moan, jerking slightly. After a couple minutes of that, his hand trailed down to the waistband of his briefs, threading briefly through the fine hairs of his happy trail. He slid one finger, then two under the waistband, tracing back and forth and just teasing himself. He breathed the name of who those phantom fingers belonged to, his cock growing to its full hardness and almost bursting of its confines.

He needed relief.

Slowly, he slid down his deep purple briefs, working them down his legs and kicking them off of his ankles. He waited until he heard the soft, muted thud upon the floor before reaching to that forbidden area once more. His hands caressed each of his milky white thighs, growing closer and closer to the straining erection that was almost flipped onto his tummy.

Minutes later, he allowed himself to touch.

It had been awhile since the last time. He'd been caught up in the drama of everyday life, and he'd neglected himself. He knew the building need for a release inside of him wasn't helping matters. So he took it slowly, fingertips ghosting up and down the length of his arousal.

He shivered.

And so he allowed himself the satisfaction of a stronger touch. He wrapped his hand around his cock, letting out a mewl at the immediate friction. He began to stroke, to pump, to press and encircle and flick his wrist and drive himself insane with desire.

The room became hotter.

His actions became faster, panting shallower. His whines and whimpers and moans filled the room in a sweet, breathy symphony. And he, slowly but surely, began to reach his release. He doubled the pace, the heat coiling in his stomach almost too much to bear.

He trembled.

His heart raced, and he sweat. He grew closer and closer to his release, craving the feeling of his orgasm crashing over him in waves.

He whimpered.

One, two, three more pumps, and he was gone.

He came. He came hard on his hand, his torso, the bed sheets. He stroked himself through his climax, heaving for breath and whimpering.

He let out a breathy sigh, curling up in a ball.

He would have to clean it up, but he was so tired.

"Blaine," he breathed, eyes closing.

And he slept.


	2. Fantasies

I really wasn't planning on a part two for this, but I wrote this (and part one, actually) for a roleplay. I figured I might as well post. It should be read separately, as there is little to no correlation between the two stories apart from the fact that it's Kurt masturbating.

Enjoy!

* * *

><p>It had been too long, and he was getting impatient again. That feeling, that need for pleasure and for a release coiled in his stomach and sat there like a rock, weighing him down. He needed to allow himself that ecstasy.<p>

Fantasies filled his mind, thanks to maybe-eventual-boyfriend, and he needed that release even more.

Alone time was hard to come by, but he was lucky enough to snag a few minutes.

He dressed in leather because leather made him feel sexy. His tight jeans hugged his ass and the bulge of his half-hard cock just right, and the black top was tight and was a fantastic contrast to his milky white skin.

He was ready.

He lay down on his bed, clothed and almost trembling with anticipation. He closed his eyes, and he allowed his imagination to take over.

"Touch me," he whispered to his phantom dominant, who steadfastly refused.

"Fuck, please, I need it…" he whimpered, rocking his hips into the air for the sort of friction neither the oxygen nor his phantom dominant could give.

It took minutes for the phantom dominant to give in. His hand fell roughly onto the bulge of his crotch, and he instantly mewled at the contact. His hand was warm, the tiny amount of friction sending pleasure through him. It wasn't much, and the satisfaction wouldn't last, but the contrast between no touch at all and this was unfathomable.

His phantom dominant undressed then, and he gasped. The dominant's build was perfect, just as he remembered, and his mouth was pretty much watering.

"Fuckmeohgodplease," he gasped, the words falling from his lips before he realized what he was saying. But his phantom dominant refused.

The phantom dominant controlled his hands, making him unbutton his leather pants and slip them off slowly, teasingly. His heart pounded with anticipation, hard, leaking cock springing free of its confines immediately (there was no room for any sort of underwear in those pants).

The cool air made him shudder, and the warm fist that wrapped around his cock made him cry out.

He was completely lost in his fantasy.

His hand sped up, pumping and flicking and stroking and _fuck, _it felt so good. His cock leaked precome, dripping onto his fist. The wetness made the friction feel so much better and _holyfuck_ it felt so good to rub his thumb over his slit…

His hand was the phantom dominant's mouth. He cried out, pleading for him to suck harder, take him, make him feel that extreme ecstasy.

His hand was getting fasterfasterfaster, pumping harderohmyfuck_more, _and he was getting _on. _His hips stuttered, bucking hard into his fist and meeting each and every thrust. His phantom dominant took his cock, swallowing it, letting him fuck his mouth.

The bed shook. The mattress trembled under the jerky motions of his thrusts, but he only increased the pace.

His stomach tightened, and he knew he was ohsoclose. He increased his pace to a desperate speed, hand practically numb.

The heat in his stomach exploded, and he came hard, come pouring onto his fist, dripping onto his torso and the sheets. He cried out as he rode out his orgasm, a loud "Blaine, _fuck!" _

He knew the whole hall could probably hear him, including the human form of his phantom dominant, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

He was completely numbed, completely blissed out.

It was what he needed.


End file.
